Welcome Changes

I’m starting to recognise that my days of helping and/or pleasing others in order to give me the illusion of being accepted and necessary are over. I’m actually living differently – most of the time, at least! I’ve started making choices to say no, to ‘book out’ of the scene and do something that is meaningful to me – regardless of whether it’s helpful to the collective, to say yes to impulses even if it means deviating from what I had said I‘d do. It feels bold, strong and good in my body. Last year, under the same circumstances, when/if I acted that way, I’d feel guilty, selfish. Now it just feels like me.

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I have had a hugely meaningful ‘conversation’ with my children. Both were here at the cottage this weekend (and Stefan is in Ottawa for RIA). I knew I wanted to finally say ‘my truth’ to them both, and together. I had no idea how this decloaking would happen, and I can’t even remember now how it actually did unfold. But I know that I was ‘there’, I was present, and what came out was right for the three of us at that time. Up until yesterday, my son was far more aware of my search for more, and of my discoveries. I have been reticent to expose myself to my daughter but I am fully aware that the time is more than ripe, and that I want to be totally honest with her too about who I am becoming. I think, in retrospect that I wanted to have them both together as I already can sense my son’s supportive and interested presence, and felt stronger with him at my side. I learned last evening that I had overdone my concern; my daughter listened actively and I felt her ‘at my side’ as well. I was honest about my new intention to actually live MY life. They could see that I ‘mean business’ about my intention to stay awake to my body, and about allowing myself to voice my thoughts, my feelings and to act on them whenever I have the clarity and impulse. They learned that I would probably be doing many things differently from now on, and they voiced their encouragement. We didn't talk about our love for each other, but I felt it in the room; and I think they did too.

I remember now that I used the following image: up til recently, I’ve been wanting a gin and tonic but I’ve been chicken to pour a strong one, or a large one, for fear of rocking the boat. So I’ve been pouring, or asking others for, tonic over ice and lime, and then I wonder why it’s not satisfying. And other various attempts at moderation and acceptableness, thinking I’d end up with a small, pleasant drink, Obviously, I’ve been mixing a watered-down version, insipid potions and never the real thing. And now I envision a very tall, strong, delicious G&T and I’m discovering how to mix it.
We had a good giggle, partly at how dumb the analogy is, but also, I think, because they had a vision of a new me, bolder and stronger and enlivened. At least, I saw myself that way as we talked, and it felt good - worth a joyful chuckle.

Later last night, and in fact, even now, lots of stuff was/is moving inside me: relief - that I’d chosen to (finally) speak up and out, and that I’m showing that I’m here now and alive in a new way; happiness - as I feel fully visible, and supported and accepted - sensations which are, for me, not insignificant!
And now as I write, I feel amazement that my family is willing to let me explore and grow, and are willing to accompany and support, even encourage me in this. I had underestimated, or misunderstood, them; I feel very grateful, very lucky – even though THERE ARE NO ACCIDENTS!

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This morning, with the pouring rain outside, I gathered my four granddaughters around the table to paint. Even the three-year-old twins were totally focused and absolutely into the joy of smearing colours onto paper and seeing, and liking, what resulted. The five and seven year olds were more expert at handling their brushes and/but equally happy to create magic and surprise as their little sisters. The little bodies expressed pleasure and joy; their voices were clear and bright. I was learning a lot from them just by being with them, aware of what I was seeing and feeling, and living every minute of it. Not for a second did I wonder “isn’t there more?”